


in spite of everything, i shall rise.

by Blackwidow1984



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Character Study, Dark Past, Kid Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov Feels, One Shot, Red Room (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 10:58:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19355656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackwidow1984/pseuds/Blackwidow1984
Summary: she was dropped into a world that knew no fear, pain or love.





	in spite of everything, i shall rise.

* * *

 

_I was looking for a breath of life._

_A little touch of heavenly light._

_But all the choirs in my head sang no._

_To get a dream of life again._

_A little of vision of the start and the end._

_But all the choirs in my head sang no._

**\- Breath of Life, Florence + the Machine**

* * *

She was dropped into a world that knew no fear, pain or love. She was taught to control, every step she took was instructed by them, every thought manifested from their words. She had a pulse, that was the only thing that was real about her. Every smile, tear, laugh and even a single word she spoke was intended to gain something for them.

She had strings attached to her, on every limb and when she pulled the trigger it was for them. For they used her for things that would scar bodies, untangle minds and make last breaths agonizing, it would always be to gain. She was told that. To gain what, they didn’t divulge.

While they puppeteer her body, her mind was left full of scarlet red, her life before, obliterated, leaving room for a forged life that made her numb. She begun before she knew anything else that wasn’t what she was, she didn’t know what could’ve been possible, she only knew her instructions, her training and that she wouldn’t have a place in any world she inhabited.

She had no name, no origins other than the one she was taught, she took the form of a girl with a face, but held nothing in her hands that resembled a person. She was to hold nothing, to be nothing, to be inconsequential to all beings, places, and life itself.

She was to take up no place in the world, apart from an unmarked grave for when the time would come, because it would always come. Through the years she became what they envisioned, and the grave was kept empty. Although around it, the soil had changed, turned and tossed to cover the failed ones. Failure was not an option for them, and there was much space for those who lost.

The victor, the envisioned weapon that they molded became the fruit of success, never failing those that whispered in her ear, but there were times that she stumbled, her body would be bled and her mind be broken when she faltered. Then she would be reset once again to impose their desires.

Even though she knew of nothing else apart from what she was, she held one single thought. It crept around the edges of everything, hid in the dark away from prying eyes and the constant murmurs that rung in her ears.

It was a sacred thought, a wistful dream, a hopeful sentiment. It would seep into her mind when she was left to survive in the woods, locked in the stone cage that was her home or strapped into the unforgiving chair that would take everything from her.

 It was a simple concept that she had never seen or felt; it was to be free. To be her own, to hold herself and know, to know what her hands held, to know what her eyes saw, to feel a smile that was tangible. To be human. It was a plain act, that many had partaken in, but she knew only how to portray, not to feel.

It was something that could not be taught, or forged, it was the simple task of being that she craved. But she knew it was to never be attained. She was contained by a force that led and controlled, she would stay out of reach of the real, she would be blinded by them and kept like a ballerina in a box.

In spite of everything she was told, taught and did she become something more than what they made. She became her own, she became her dream. When she breathed it was hers, it was not something she was ordered to take.

When she cried, cried for her forged life, her sins, cried for what she once was, in spite of the reasons she would cry, it would be her own tears. And when she laughed and smiled it was her own face forming into something she craved as a child, that she could only faintly imagine when she slept in her closet-sized room.

It was all her own, she could move freely, without strings pulling her back. No single infliction of pain on her skin could be made, nor any voices in her head wreaking destruction. She once was the very thing children feared, that made stoic men fall and lips tremble. She was the epitome of everything that lurked in the dark, hid under beds and in closets.

But in spite of everything; the things she was, that she was forced to become, she rose. She rose to be her own in every sense of the word.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a Vincent Van Gogh quote “In spite of everything, I shall rise again"  
> I wrote this as a character analysis and character-driven story rather than plot-driven. Natasha, to me, is one of the most striking and enigmatic characters in fiction. Whenever I explore more of her character, there are so many layers to examine. I chose to explore her journey in the Red Room and how she became who she is.  
> I hope you enjoyed it! Please give kudos and maybe add a comment! Feedback is awesome and always welcome <3


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